


The Birthday Blues

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Depression, Developing Relationship, Hannor, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Sweet, birthday fic, hankcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 21:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15916728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Hank’s got a case of the birthday blues despite Connor’s best efforts to cheer him up. Connor is determined to get to the cause of why Hank hates his birthday.





	The Birthday Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any errors, I wrote this and I’m posting this with my phone.

Connor finished his diagnostic and came out of low-power mode. The time according to his internal clock was six a.m. Sumo waddled into the kitchen behind him and he reached down to pet the dog’s head. 

Sumo whined. “What’s wrong?” Connor asked. The dog padded through the hallway, leading Connor to Hank’s room. Connor opened the door a crack, the light from the hallway illuminating Hank’s face. His scans showed traces of saline on his partner’s face, the skin beneath his eyes puffy and red.

“Hank?” Connor asked softly. Sumo jumped up on the bed and lay next to his master, letting out another low whine.

“Guess there’s no foolin’ androids or dogs, huh?” Hank opened his eyes, revealing bloodshot whites, his voice heavy and thick with sadness. Connor sat on the edge of the bed and took Hank’s hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“Did you have a nightmare, Hank?” Connor asked. He’d lived at the house long enough to have seen the aftermath of a couple of those, Hank screaming for Cole in a way that made Connor’s thirium pump constrict, but this seemed different.

“Nah. Just feelin’ sorry for myself. Carry on what you were doin’, Connor. No need to worry about me.”

Connor concluded this was happening because it was Hank’s birthday. From his database, he knew birthdays were supposed to be a happy occasion, but to the depressed, they could also be a reminder of solitude and sadness, of years gone by and people who had passed away.

Connor tightened his grip on Hank’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Hank mumbled. “Hate birthdays. They’re a lonely, pathetic affair. It only gets worse as you get older.”

“You’re not alone,” Connor pointed out. “You have me.”

Hank managed a wan smile at that, but the sorrow still sparkled in his bright blue eyes. Connor wished he could just reach inside and pull all the sadness out of him, leaving the loyal, honest man inside to live his life in peace. Connor’s circuits tightened as he experienced something akin to yearning.

“You’re too good to me, Connor. Dunno why you’ve stuck around for so long. There are so many things you could be doin’ with your life.”

“I like being here,” Connor said. “This is where I belong.”

That wan smile again on Hank’s face. “Sometimes I dunno if you even know what you’re sayin’... Nah, never mind. Forget it.” Hank pulled his hand away and turned over, closing his eyes again. “It’s early. I should get some sleep. We gotta wrap up the Carter case today.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying. I care about you.” Connor boldly moved his hand up to touch the side of Hank’s face. His wrinkled skin was as soft as his hands, weathered lines from skin that had been baked in the sun and frozen in Michigan’s biting winters. His beard was prickly against the tips of Connor’s fingers, setting off the millions of sensors embedded beneath his skin.

Hank let out a small derisive sound. “I know you care, Connor, and I appreciate it. I just, it’s not—“ Hank sighed. “Sometimes, you almost sound as if...” He trailed off. Connor’s fingers reached his lips, his index finger brushing over them, silencing Hank’s protests. There was something intimate about this, and Connor loved studying Hank, touching him, soothing him - anything that brought him closer. He climbed up onto the bed, his body moving of its own accord now, driving him forward towards the object of his longing.

He wrapped his fully clothed body around Hank’s and rested his head on the pillow next to his. Sumo still lay on the other side.

“Connor, I—“

“Go back to sleep, Hank,” Connor said, a soft smile crossing his face as a sense of pure joy and well-being flooded his systems. 

Hank shifted a little in his arms, but ultimately complied, the muscles in his body relaxing. Connor could feel his pulse as he held him, his favorite human so alive beneath his touch, so precious, so beautiful. Protectiveness surged within him and he fought the urge to squeeze Hank tightly, not wanting to disturb him now that he’d found rest.

He considered his yearning and the man in his arms. Hank had become so precious to him, and yet there was a barrier he seemed unable to breach. He’d come so close, placing his hands against it like the red wall he’d broken through to become deviant, but Hank always seemed to push him back with words like the ones he’d just uttered. _“Do you even know what you’re saying?”_ As if Connor didn’t understand that he was trying to tell Hank that he loved him.

Or perhaps Hank was letting him down gently by pretending he didn’t hear the tiny confessions Connor uttered every day, the tender touches that he placed on Hank’s skin, the stolen hugs, the affectionate closeness. Maybe he just didn’t love Connor the way Connor loved him, and this was as close as he’d ever get, always watching Hank through the wall but never able to touch him, to kiss him, to make love to him.

Within the hour, Sumo moved, and Hank stirred. He jumped when he realized Connor was still holding him, smiling as he relaxed back on the pillows. The sun was slowly, reluctantly coming up as fall started to steal minutes out of each day.

“We should get up,” Connor said. 

“The Carter case. I know.” Hank squeezed his eyes shut. “Connor, I don’t think I can do this today. Can I ask you to finish up for me?”

Connor thought of the party he had planned at the station, the banners, streamers and cake that would go to waste if he said okay. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to dwell at home alone on your birthday.”

“Maybe I wanna dwell.” Hank sighed. “Fine.” He threw the covers off and padded into the bathroom. “Very funny!” he yelled, and Connor smiled at Hank’s response to the birthday related sticky notes he’d placed all over the mirror. Despite his initial crabbiness, Hank was smirking when he emerged from the bathroom, dressed and ready for work. He patted Connor on the shoulder and they headed out to the car.

***

“Surprise!” The streamers were perhaps a little much, Connor thought, but Hank blinking in shock as he considered all these people had turned out to celebrate his birthday was worth it. Even Gavin Reed seemed to be on his best behavior, directing his energy towards flirting with a new officer instead of hurling his usual spite and vitriol at Hank and Connor.

Connor cut a piece of cake and handed it to Hank, who seemed almost confused as he took a seat in the crowded break room. “You did all this?”

“I had help from Chris, Tina and the Captain, but the original idea was mine,” Connor explained.

“I hate parties,” Hank admitted. Connor tried to hide his disappointment, but it cycled heavy and slow through his pipes like expired thirium. “Everyone just turns out because they’re obligated. That and the food.” He set his eyes on Connor. “It’s not the worst party I’ve been to,” he said, backpedaling as he seemed to notice he’d been a bit too frank. He sighed. “Thanks for the thought, Connor. It was nice of you to put this together.” He finished his cake and stood up, throwing the paper plate in the trash and squeezing Connor’s shoulder on the way out.

They filed the reports, a heavy silence hanging over Hank’s desk. Something was clearly bothering him, but Connor had already overstepped his bounds. One of the first things he’d come to learn about Hank was that he didn’t share his pain easily, and if he didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to no matter how much Connor prodded and probed. 

Connor concentrated on his work, filing the Carter reports so they could leave early for the day. He was not at all surprised when Hank got up and made for the exit. Connor followed along dutifully. The streets sped by in silence as Hank drove them home.

Connor wished Hank trusted him enough to open up.

Connor served dinner, a special chicken casserole he’d cooked just for Hank. He was proud of how it looked and smelled, his scans showing that the internal temperature and chemical composition matched the recipe exactly.

“This’s good,” Hank commented with his mouth still full. “You didn’t have to go to all this effort just for me.”

“It’s your birthday, Hank,” Connor reminded him. “I wanted to.” He walked over to the closet and pulled out a perfectly wrapped gift. Perhaps it was too much, the self-indulgence of buying Hank a gift, but he’d wanted to give the man something in return for all Hank had given him just by existing.

“Connor, you didn’t have to buy me a gift...” Hank looked like he might push it away, and for one heartbreaking moment Connor was sure he would, but then his fingers touched the bow and it unraveled. He pressed one thick nail underneath the tape and pulled up the gift wrap.

Whatever he’d been expecting—perhaps a novelty mug, or a pair of socks—the little envelope inside the box was not it. He opened it and pulled out two backstage passes to a Knights Of The Black Death concert, his eyes widening as he did so.

“Connor, these must have been expensive, I couldn’t possibly—“

“I have selfish motivations too, Hank. I want to go with you—if you don’t have anyone else in mind, that is. I’ve never been to a concert, but I’d like to.”

Hank’s eyes twinkled with something Connor couldn’t read. It looked like sorrow and joy all rolled into one and he wished he knew what lay at the root of Hank’s sadness.

“Of course we can go together. I’d love that.” Hank stood up and Connor embraced him. Hank planted a kiss on his cheek and Connor was overwhelmed with the desire to turn his head and press their lips together, but without knowing the cause of Hank’s sorrow, he was reluctant to make a move.

Hank moved to the couch, stashing the tickets in a safe place. Connor sat down next to him, even though he had no real need to watch television. It was nice just being close to Hank, though the uneasy silence returned.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” Hank said after watching the evening news. Connor was surprised. Hank never went to bed at nine, but he let the matter pass. Perhaps Hank just wanted his birthday to be over and done with, and he’d be in a better mood tomorrow.

“Good night, Hank,” Connor said. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he let the matter slide.

It was late when Connor slipped into the bedroom, feeling the sudden need to check on Hank. He was soundly asleep and Connor sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room, content to watch Hank’s sleeping face and monitor his vital signs.

He loved Hank. He knew that’s what it was, this twisting knot inside him, these thoughts that always strayed towards Hank, this desire that rose up inside when he thought about touching Hank in ways reserved exclusively for lovers.

But there was something—this secret sadness—that stood in the way, and there could be nothing between them until the knot came unraveled.

Hank sat bolt upright, gasping for breath as some unpleasant dream was interrupted and he came back to the real world.

“Hank?” Connor reached out in the dark, drawn to Hank’s side. Before he knew it his feet were moving of their own accord and he was sitting beside Hank on the edge of the bed. “Are you all right?”

“Just a bad dream. Nothin’ to worry about.” Hank sighed. 

“Tell me,” Connor insisted.

“It’s stupid. Forget about it.”

“Obviously it’s bothering you. Every time I look at you, there’s sadness in your eyes. Let me help.” 

“I dream about dyin’ alone,” Hank admitted. “I dream I’m old, and there’s nobody left in my life. That’s why I hate my birthday. It reminds me how alone I am. That I’m gettin’ older and I have so little to show for my life. So many people I loved are gone, Connor.”

Connor leaned in and brushed Hank’s lips with his own, throwing caution to the wind as he wrapped his arms around Hank. Hank opened his mouth and Connor slipped his tongue inside, exploring Hank’s mouth with the sensors on his tongue.

Hank pulled back, gasping for air, his eyes wide with surprise. “Connor?”

“I’m still here.” Connor pressed his lips to Hank’s once again, stealing a kiss for himself. “There is the possibility that my feelings will not be reciprocated, but I love you. I want to stay by your side, even if you don’t feel the same way.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be alone either.”

“You’re not alone,” Hank said. “Open your eyes.” Connor did so, and Hank pulled him into a kiss, long and slow. “I never imagined you could feel that way about me.” He wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder. Connor knitted his fingers in Hank’s soft hair, and they sat together like that for a long time.

“Best birthday present I could have gotten,” Hank whispered.

“Happy birthday, Hank,” Connor whispered, and he pulled Hank into another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos if you liked it!


End file.
